to Tame a Land (1955) (15 page)

We were keeping our ears open as we worked the tow n over, but there was no word of Lisa anywhere.

Then one night a man lurched up to me on the street.

He was acting drunk, but he was cold sober when h e spoke. "Heard you asking about a girl named Liza Hetrick. You take a look at that place of Billings' up th e canyon."

I grabbed him. "She out there?"

"Word to the wise," he said hoarsely. "You take a look."

Chapter
13

BEN BILLINGS' canyon place was six miles out. It was a winding mountain trail, and I took it fast. The gray ha d been eating his head off and was ready to go, even in tha t cold. And it was pushing right close to zero.

It was night when I started, the stars so bright the y hurt, the night clear and brittle, the snow crunching underfoot and scintillating with a million tiny brilliants. I like d the look of it, liked it fine. Only I wasn't thinking o f snow, I was thinking of Liza.

Once I had the gray warmed up a little, I kept him a t a fast walk. I didn't want him working up a sweat on a cold night.

Aside from my Smith & Wesson pistols and my rifle, I w as carrying a sawed-off shotgun from the marshal's office. It was one of those Colt revolving shotguns that fir e four shots. That one I had slung under the buffalo coa t that hung to my knees.

One .44 was thrust down into my. waistband where I c ould draw it without pushing the coat back. But I wasn'
t figuring on it too much.

Leaving the trail when I sighted a light up ahead, I t urned off into the trees. When I had walked my hors e close, I could see through the top of the window, an d there was a woman sitting with her back to me, sittin g in a rocker. She was a young woman and the hair wa s the right color.

It looked mighty peaceful, mighty quiet. But whe n a man has lived as I'd lived, he begins to mistrust th e looks of things. He gets cautious, if you know what I m ean. And me, I didn't like the look of that frost o n the window. There wasn't enough of it.

A body who was a mite suspicious might believe jus t enough had been scraped away so a man could see in, s o he could see just what he was supposed to see.

Getting down from my horse, I walked away throug h the snow. There was a window on the north side, too.

It was frosted to within an inch of the top. So right the n I did some fast thinking.

A man going into a tight corner would first investigat e the stable, and be mighty careful about it. A man woul d approach the door only after he was sure the gir l was alone.

So I did investigate the stable. There were two horse s in it, which meant nothing, because the rig I'd seen outside was a cutter for a two-horse team. There was som e harness there, but there was no dampness on the horses , and no snow anywhere in that stable. There were no recent tracks near the stable or the house. But I was gettin g an idea.

From the window I could see a door, maybe to th e kitchen. But I couldn't see anything that was on this sid e of the entrance. If a man entered and was suspicious, h i would watch that kitchen door.

If this was a trap, it was a good one laid by smart me n who knew what they were doing, and who knew the sor t of man I was. But I hadn't come out all that way jus t to ride back. Anyway, I always believed in taking the bul l by the horns.

So I opened the door and stepped in without knocking, but I didn't just step over the threshold and stop.

I ducked low and jumped four feet into the room, the n spun a chair around and faced the corner I couldn't se e from the outside.

It was covered with a red blanket that reached to th e floor.

The girl had got up and
backed off, her face straine d and pale. And she was no more Liza than I was.

"Better close the door, ma'am. Liable to get cold i n here."

She hesitated, and put out a hand to steady herself. Sh e was dressed like a ranch woman, but her face was painted , and anybody could tell what she was.

Where I stood, anybody behind that blanket could no t see me. If I'd stepped through that door and stopped, I'
d have been a sitting duck, but now whoever was ther e would have to move out from behind that blanket. No r was I in range from the kitchen door, and as soon a s I spoke, I moved.

Walking carefully, the girl crossed and closed the door.

The fact that my coming was no surprise, or even th e manner of my coming, showed me I had been expected.

"Know anything about a girl named Liza Hetrick?"

"No. . . . No, I never heard of her."

"Who owns this house?"

"Why, I rent it from Mr. Billings."

My eyes never left that curtain and she could see them.

She was getting more and more nervous.

By now I'd moved until I had that old sheet-iro n stove between me and the curtain. It was a hot stove, an d it stood on legs more than a foot high, bringing it mor e than chest-high on me, and it was wider than me. I t was good protection.

The way I stood, only my right side was free of tha t stove. And that was where my gun hung.

"You behind the curtain," I said. "Come out."

There was no move, no sound.

"You're a crazy fool!" The girl's voice was a little to o shrill. "Nobody's back there!"

"All right," I said, "pick up that poker."

She hesitated, then picked it up. "Now lift it shoulder--
h igh and take a full swing with both hands," I said, "an d hit that blanket."

"No!" She jerked back, frightened. Then she caugh t herself. "Why should I do that?"

"Do it!"

She touched her lips with her tongue and drew back.

"No," she said, "I won't!"

"All right," I said loudly, "I'll shoot into it with a shotgun."

With sudden triumph she cried out, "He hasn't got a shotgun! He's lying!"

She didn't say, "You haven't got a shotgun," as she .
w ould have done if she'd been speaking to me, so I kne w she spoke for the benefit of whoever was concealed in th e house.

And right then that kitchen door slammed open and a man stepped in and said, "Now, Joe!" and he shot.

Only the trouble was, I had my right hand inside m y coat. There was a slit inside the pocket of my buffalo coa t that enabled me to grasp the gun at my belt or the shotgun, and my coat was unbuttoned.

The shotgun was suspended by a strap inside my coa t and that kitchen door grated on a little sand, a scarcel y perceptible sound, and I stepped around the stove an d shot into the blanket, shot twice, fast as I could pull th e trigger. A bullet rang like a bell against the sheet-iro n stove, and then I turned and shot past the stove at th e man standing in the door to the kitchen.

It was fast, like the wink of an eye. Three shots gon e in the fifth part of a second, maybe. And two men dead.

The man in the kitchen door had taken his in th e belt. The man behind the blanket had fallen forward , pulling the red blanket down with him. One charge o f buckshot had caught him in the face and one in the chest.

There was an acrid smell of gunpowder, and then th e sound was gone and the room was empty and I could hea r the clock ticking and the sobs of the girl. Something wa s stinging my arm. Looking down, I was surprised to se e blood there.

The girl had drawn back into the corner and wa s staring at the dead men with horror on her face. I didn'
t feel sorry for her. She helped set that trap, and she playe d along with them all the way.

One of them was Lang's deputy, the one I'd ordere d out of town. The other was a loafer I'd seen around Billings' saloon.

Me I stood there, looking down at those two men. "Six,"

I said. "Six and seven."

"What?" she stared at me.

"Nothing," I said, "only you'd better get into town. I d on't want you."

You'll let me go?"

"Sure," I said. "I expect you did what you were tol d to do."

She seemed dazed. She picked up her coat and a woolen muffler, her eyes avoiding the bodies. I helped he r on with her coat. "You'll beat him," she said. "He didn'
t think you were so smart."

"Hope so," I said.

She wrapped the muffler around her head and tie d it underker chin.

"Who is this Liza Hetrick? Are you in love with her?"

"Me? Ma'am, she was a child when I saw her last , but pretty. I guess I was only a kid myself. I . .
. I like d her. And her folks were like my own."

"Ben knows something. I know he does. He talks abou t her as if he does." She paused. "I hope you find her."

"If she's here, where would she be?"

"One of the places in town. Any one of them. Be n owns them all."

She rode back to town with me and I took her to th e stage station when the stage was there and put her on it.

As she got in, two men started for their horses: "You," I said. "Get back inside."

"What?"

The shotgun came out from under my coat and the y almost tore the door down getting in.

Right there I stayed until that stage was well out o f town and making fast time on the hard-packed snow. I w alked to the marshal's office then, and Mustang thre w down his cigarette as I came in. "You're a trouble to a man," he said dryly. "I been worried."

So I told him what happened.

"Figured it," he said. "Until a few minutes ago they ha d four men across the street. My guess is they were to com e in fast once they knew you were dead."

He had two shotguns lying on the desk and a sawed -
off Henry rifle.

They would have needed more than four men to com e in that door with Mustang behind those guns. I'd see n some tough men, but Mustang was born with the bar k on. And there was no rabbit in him.

And that night, without further delay, we started a shakedown of the houses in Alta. We started at the firs t one and worked our way down the street. We embarrasse d some folks and frightened others, but house by house w e shook the places down. We found nobody held agains t her will. We found nothing that gave us a lead.

But we gave that town a going over it would neve r forget, and we started a few people traveling. There wa s a red-haired man who objected, but Mustang kicked hi m downstairs and knocked him into the street.

Two weeks passed slowly, but they were weeks of comparative peace. We arrested a couple of men &or knif e fights, and Mustang caught in action a holdup man wh o in a misguided moment tried to shoot it out. It was a mistake.

After that, things settled down fast. The town took a second look at the situation and women began to do mor e shopping than they had done before, and the tough boy s sang mighty small. The honest people liked it and th e crooks didn't have any choice. Billings came and wen t about his business and avoided us.

"Too quiet," Mustang said, and I agreed with him.

By the end of February the town had had the mos t peaceful month in its short history. Murdock came dow n to see us and told us he was pleased, but even he wa s wondering how long it would last.

Liza was always on my mind, but I was trying t o think it out now. Billings was not a man one coul d frighten or force into talking. Whatever he might kno w he did not plan to tell. Yet something had to break.

Meanwhile, we had been checking. The marshal previou s to John Lang had been murdered. He had been shot i n the back of the head at close range.

John Lang had not then been in town. He had bee n sent for and promised the job of marshal. We found th e letter in the safe, where it had been left through som e oversight. The letter was signed "T. J. Farris."

There was nobody in town by that name.

Yet whoever had wtitten that letter had been know n to John Lang. John Lang had known him well enoug h to come all the way from Texas to take the job. Lan g had believed him. . . .

Moreover, whoever wrote that letter had been might y sure he could do what he wanted in town.

Ben Billings was careful. He was never out of our sight.

Yet I couldn't forget what that girl had said. Billing s knew something about Liza.

We watched him as he went about his business. H
e did not ride out of town. He was careful, mighty careful.

He never stayed anyplace very long.

He was worried, too. He must have known that w e knew he was guilty of arranging that plot to kill me , but we had done nothing. And that bothered him.

Business was good. The mines were shipping ore. Everybody seemed happy . . . except me.

Mustang, he was always on the prowl. He would tak e his home and ride away, and he would return just in tim e to take his shift. We had rounded up two more deputie s to handle the day shift, which was usually quiet. The y were local men, a tough old ex-soldier named Riley an d a miner with a bad lung named Schaumberg.

One night I was standing alone on the street and jus t about to move on when somebody spoke to me from th e shadows.